


This is the Safest Place You've Found

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: renlylorasfest, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon fork AU in A Clash of Kings, for the <a href="http://renlylorasfest.livejournal.com/">renlylorasfest</a> Happy Endings Comment Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the Safest Place You've Found

The battle breaks with Loras and the vanguard. Renly watches him strike the first blow, pride swelling in his heart. He lets it lie there for a second before he sweeps his eyes over the armies. He sees a knight carrying his brother's new standard, the fiery heart, tracks how close it comes to his own standard, and to the golden rose of Highgarden. He waits.

When the first chaos has set in, he gives the signal, and the main force descends. The sun is in their eyes, but Renly has spent his time memorising positions, and breaks forth, his knights at his side.

The noise is immense. Screams of horses and men, clash of steel, thunk of wooden shields as swords and axes and arrows hit. Renly deals strike after strike with his sword, swinging it in a high arc left and right to keep the blade at the best angle when he brings it down. Sworn swords and hedge knights fall before him, and highborn knights. The handful of lords at Stannis's side are swept across the battlefield to meet the van, and in the confusion Renly sometimes catches glimpses of Loras, shining in the morning sun, transformed by the blood that’s on his blade and splattered over his armour.

Time seems to judder as the battle rages; at once, Renly feels as though he's been fighting for years, and for hardly any time at all, and as though everything is happening in jumps. A scream as he cuts a man down; then suddenly he is fifty yards hence, in single combat with a lord sworn to Dragonstone; then the chaos parts and he catches a glimpse of Loras, and Brienne beside him. They have their backs together, circling in perfect unison, and all in their path are cut down.

When all is done and the last knights and lords have yielded, Renly collects his army in the shadow of the castle. "Let all those who fought today for Stannis who would bend the knee to me be pardoned," he calls out. "All who remain loyal to Dragonstone will be prisoners." More than half of Stannis's remaining force, in the end, swear allegiance to King Renly. The rest, Renly turns over to Ser Courtnay. "See that they have comfortable cells," he says. "Clean water and food. No rats."

He calls his lords bannermen to his side. "Did anybody see Ser Barristan Selmy?" he asks. All shake their heads. The nugget of worry he's been pushing aside grows a little, but he has other things to attend to.

"Your Grace," Loras says, dropping to one knee and holding out a sword in its scabbard, "I bring you Lord Stannis's sword."

"I thank you, Ser Loras," Renly says, taking it and unsheathing to admire the way it glints. "This _will_ look good with my armour."

Most of his lords laugh. Randyll Tarly doesn't, but he never does. "Now," Renly says, "I need ten men from each of you, to help me scour the battlefield. We must look for survivors." _And bring mercy to those who need it_ , he doesn't say, hand on the hilt of his dagger.

He takes his Rainbow Guard, Brienne staying close to him, Loras not far. He finds Stannis half way across the field, eyes open, though blood is soaking his armour and his helm has been knocked loose and broken. It looks like a horse kicked it, the large round dent unmistakable, sinking it into the mud.

Renly kneels. Stannis breathes raggedly and tries to speak. "Mine," he croaks, "by rights."

"I'm sorry, brother," Renly says, and nods to Brienne. She gives him mercy.

He sees the remaining wounded safely to the castle, and sets every able person from the washerwomen to the maester to care for them. Loras stays behind to help a few more to beds as Renly makes a round of the encampment to see and hear for himself how his knights and lords fare. He watches squires repairing armour and thanks every man who fought and lived, gives commiserations to those who lost relatives and friends. He visits the lords newly his, and speaks to them of fealty and loyalty, looks them in the eye to judge if they will remain true. They will, though he'll keep a close watch on one or two in the next battle.

He visits the cells and speaks to each knight, highborn and low, to ask again if they will bend the knee. None will. The Onion Knight looks hollowed out, huddled in his cell. The red priestess only stares into the flame of the torch Brienne bears and says nothing. She has a look about her of one thrown suddenly into a stormy sea from the comfort of a king's cabin. Renly gives the gaolers orders to show her extra kindness. "Best not leave any flames with her," he adds, thinking of the way she'd watched them dance.

He meets with Ser Courtnay to talk over the household while they eat luncheon. Ser Courtnay agrees to house the wounded until they are healed, and then send them on to meet the rest of the armies. "I mean to join the forces I left at Bitterbridge," Renly says, wiping peach juice from his mouth. "Word will soon reach King's Landing of this victory, and I mean to see its defeat swift on this one's heels."

He meets again with his lords bannermen, to talk over strategy. They agree to a new route, and to pick up the pace but not march too hard. "More join our cause every day," Lord Mathis Rowan points out. "As news spreads of this victory, our numbers will swell, but Your Grace must be there to pledge fealty to."

Lady Catelyn Stark is waiting, and Renly meets with her when his bannermen have gone. "My lady," he says, "you see now how I deal with disloyalty and traitors."

"I do," Lady Catelyn says. "May I have your leave to return to Riverrun?" She says it curtly, though Renly sees it covers a deep sadness.

"As an envoy," he nods. "Take word to your son that I bear him no ill will, and if he will bend the knee to me he may rule as he wishes in the North. As King or Lord, just as he likes. I ask only that we join our forces when I have taken King's Landing and cast down the Lannisters together."

"I will take this message, my lord," she inclines her head. She stops as she is turning, and says, "Cersei holds my daughter Sansa. Can you promise me she will return safely?"

"I shall send her to Riverrun with an honour guard," Renly says. "What of your other daughter? The one who threw Joffrey's sword into the Trident?"

"She has not been seen since — since my lord husband's death," Lady Catelyn says.

"When the realm is at peace, I will send men to find her," Renly promises. "You have my word."

"Thank you." She pauses, then says, "Your Grace." It is not, Renly knows, that she believes him any more a king than she did yesterday; it is gratitude that he asked. That he remembered.

"You and your men may rest here if you wish, my lady," he says. "I would be glad for you to share meat and mead with us. Ser Courtnay has ordered a feast to celebrate our victory."

"Yes, my lord," she says, sadly, and sweeps out. She is greatly changed, Renly reflects, from when he saw her as a boy, laughing with a child on her knee. _Her children are grown_ , he thinks, _and their father dead._ He sighs, passes a hand over his face, and stands.

Brienne steps forward. "Your Grace?" she says.

"You should rest, Brienne," Renly says. He is weary, and she has been standing for longer, fought for longer. "Loras, walk with me a while. I would taste the sea air."

Renly climbs up to the battlements, Loras quiet at his side. His rainbow-striped cloak billows in the breeze, and Renly breathes in deeply, closing his eyes. "I used to play up here as a boy," he says.

"I remember," Loras says. He's lost something of his sheen, and Renly turns to him, reaching out to touch his hand.

"Are you well?" he asks.

"It's different from a melee," Loras says. "I'd never killed a man before."

Renly pulls him into a hug, the clank as their armour connects sounding the distance between them. "Nor had I," he says. He closes his eyes, sees Brienne’s dagger going into Stannis's heart again. "Was it you who made my brother bleed so?"

"Yes," Loras says. "I always knew he was vicious, but —"

"Did he say anything? Did he hurt you?" Renly pulls away to look at Loras's face.

"He got in a few blows, but there's no damage," Loras says, attempting a smile. "He said a few things. About me being your faithful little rose, when all the strength of my House should be his."

Renly sighs. "My brother always did like claiming things. I once ate half a ham and he almost struck me, saying the ham was his and he would give it to who he pleased. That was in the first months of the siege, when I was a hungry boy of four."

Loras lays his head against Renly's chest. "There was so much blood."

"You've always told me you're used to blood."

"I am. Not that much." Loras smiles up at him. "I'd do it all again, for you."

Renly kisses him, not caring if anyone sees. He needs this, needs the taste of Loras's mouth mingled with salt from the air. It makes him feel safe, grounded, the way he'd always felt before Robert dragged him to King's Landing to sit on the small council and get in the way of the Lannisters.

The feast that night is well-attended. Renly raises a cup to the fallen, one to all who fought that day, one to victory, one to his new lords and knights, who give nervous smiles. And the last, he raises to Queen Margaery. His lords toast and drink well. Lady Catelyn sits on the dais, looking much as she did at the feast at Bitterbridge, though with less of an air of doom. _The doom has come_ , Renly thinks, still unable to quite wash the smell of blood from his nostrils. Even the sea and Loras haven't drowned it out yet.

He repairs to his old chambers after the feast, three of his Rainbow Guard following. His squires have prepared the rooms. "Brienne, Ser Robar, guard the door." They dutifully fall into position, though Brienne shoots one jealous glance at Loras when he shuts the doors.

Renly's favourite squire is heating water in a copper kettle. "I thought you might like a bath after this day, Your Grace," he says, bowing. He's a good lad, and given as part of his father's pledge of loyalty.

"Thank you, Mark," Renly says, taking his gloves off. Mark removes Renly's clothes and checks the water's temperature. "Bathe with me, Loras."

"As Your Grace commands," Loras says. Renly climbs into the water, which is gorgeously hot. "The king wishes me to bathe," Loras says to Mark. He doesn't need to give the order; Mark helps Loras out of his armour automatically.

When Loras is down to shirt and breeches, Renly says, "I can do the rest. Go and sleep, lad."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Mark says, holding down a yawn. He leaves Loras's armour in a neat heap next to Renly's and closes the doors behind him.

Loras stands next to the tub, Renly reaching up to untie his shirt and drop it to the floor. He unlaces Loras's breeches, looking only at the material, and then Loras steps into the bath.

When Renly sees Loras's chest and stomach, he inhales sharply. There's a crisscross of cuts, little slices fanning around bruises, and a welt next to his heart. "Has the maester seen this?" Renly asks, reaching forward but not touching.

"Of course," Loras says. "I'll heal. I didn't want to worry you."

"Oh, my Loras," Renly sighs, pulling him close. "I'd stop this war tomorrow if it meant keeping you safe."

"Don't stop," Loras says. "You are the true king, Your Grace." _If Lady Catelyn is right and her son did catch the Lannisters_ , Renly thinks, _I am more the true king than ever now._

He kisses Loras, drinking comfort deeply from his lips. Loras surges to press his body against Renly's, straddling his lap, kissing him hard and eager. Renly runs his hands up and down Loras's sides, making him squirm.

Loras breaks the kiss. "I want to pleasure you," he says, drawing his lower lip over Renly's to make clear what he's saying, "but I'd drown."

"Don't drown," Renly says. "I don't need you to pleasure me."

"What do you need?" Loras drifts his hand over Renly's thigh, but Renly just smiles.

"You in my arms," he says, tugging him closer and kissing him.

Loras smiles. "You are aroused, though," he says, pressing against him. Loras is breathtakingly hard.

"What do you need?" Renly asks, voice soft.

"To feel alive," Loras says. He sounds vulnerable for a second, and Renly remembers how young he is.

"Is there anything I can do to help with that?" he says, moving his hands to Loras's ass.

Loras smiles. "Just kiss me. That always does it."

Renly kisses him, slow and deep. Loras settles against him, their cocks lying flush, a few curls falling forward to brush against Renly‘s face.

It's all the anchor Renly needs.


End file.
